


Goodnight, Dodger

by WalkOnThroughARedParade



Series: I Will Follow (Where You Lead) [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Boys Kissing, In which I loosely borrow the Jess/Rory storyline but mostly just do Whatever The Hell I Want, M/M, Rickon is emotionally constipated, Tommen is just great all around and too good for everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkOnThroughARedParade/pseuds/WalkOnThroughARedParade
Summary: “Are you threatening to throw pies at people again, ‘Cella? I feel like this may be reaching ‘latent dreams of becoming a clown when you grow up’ levels, and I have to warn you your window for getting into the clown business is rapidly closing. And there’s not a circus in town for you to conveniently run away to currently, so you may have to wait anyway. I’d recommend sticking with the ‘running an inn’ thing.”Alternatively;In Which Rickon Stark Attends Dinner





	Goodnight, Dodger

_ I’m actually in hell _ , Rickon thought to himself, probably for the sixth time in the last four minutes, as they walked past a house with gnomes scattered around the front lawn. 

He’d been in this insane town for less than forty eight hours and he already felt like he was going crazy, like the second the houses on the side of the road had turned  _ quaint _ he’d suffered a mental break and started hallucinating everything he saw after that. He got the feeling Shaggydog felt the same, if the way he kept grumbling and butting his head against Rickon’s hip was any indication, and the gesture of solidarity was something of a comfort; even more so than Shaggydog generally was, had been since Rickon was seven.

The extra comfort was necessary now, though, with Robb on his other side for the first time in years. Rickon was a strange kind of grateful that his huge black dog still refused to leave his side.

Not to mention the slight bounce the idea of Shaggy scaring their hosts for the evening put in his step. Thrilling as watching a bus full of people go bug-eyed when he’d boarded with Shaggy in tow had been it had been over much too fast, and he was almost eager to shock Robb’s friend now.

It would be something of a consolation prize for his being dragged to this dinner in the first place.

“I don’t want to do this,” he muttered, only just loud enough for Robb to hear him; and his brother glanced over at him before sighing quietly, and then reaching to ruffle Rickon’s hair in the way that still made him tense a little, the way almost all physical contact did these days.

“I know you don’t. But you can’t spend your life locked up in the apartment; and I think you’ll like Tommen. He’s a good kid.” Rickon rolled his eyes a little at the description of the other boy he was to meet, wondering how Robb ever reached the conclusion that ‘good’ was something Rickon would be drawn to; but he bit his tongue the way he’d been taught against his sharp remark when they climbed the stairs to the front door of Myrcella Baratheon’s house.

He wouldn’t embarrass Robb or himself right now. Being an asshole was one thing; letting a complete stranger see him argue with his brother was another entirely.

Rickon didn’t smile when Myrcella opened her front door at Robb’s knock, and instead just peered inside her house curiously, ignoring the inane greetings being exchanged while he tried to drink in every detail. There were a lot of random bits and pieces, he noticed first, nicknacks that jarred with the pretty pieces of expensive furniture that all matched each other, like Myrcella and her little brother were subtly rebelling against whoever had given them the furniture in the first place.

It was the kind of asshole-rebellion Rickon liked most. Finding it inside a quaint house in the quaint town he’d been banished to put his teeth on edge.

His fingers itched with wanting to steal something, pocket one of the porcelain cats on the mantle or the tiny plush yellow duck sat beside the phone, while Myrcella led them on a mini-tour, reciting facts and inside jokes that made Robb smile and Rickon want to turn around and leave already. He strongly considered swiping the photo sat just behind the duck, depicting a tiny boy with blonde curls and enormous blue eyes cuddling a much larger plush duck and sticking his tongue out at the person taking the picture; it was cute, and would probably make a nice addition to all the other photos he’d swiped and compiled in a shoebox since he’d been seven and stopped having his own family photos to hoard.

Robb seized his wrist before he could even start to reach for it, though, and shot Rickon a stern look.

“She’ll notice if you take that one. Be smarter with your sticky fingers if you really can’t help yourself, little brother.” Rickon just blinked back at him innocently until he rolled his eyes and turned away, and then smiled privately to himself.

Now and then he did remember why he liked Robb so much; that hell or not, his mother could have sent him somewhere worse. Like  _ boarding school _ .

There were more people in the kitchen - Gods, would the horror  _ never end _ \- and Rickon fielded a question as to whether or not he ate cheese from the dark skinned girl brandishing a ladle with an incredulous look, before a new voice grabbed his attention from the room he hadn’t noticed behind him.

“I’m not having cheese! And I’m still vegetarian!” Rickon turned sharply on his heel, blinking and frowning when he was faced with a bedroom and the back of the boy that assumedly lived in it, his attention on the computer on the top of his desk.

The head of soft blonde curls suggested he was the grown up version of the little boy in the photo. Rickon wanted to see his face, and if those eyes were still so large and blue or if the photo had lied about the colour or size.

“Oh yes you  _ are _ having cheese, boy. I’m in fact planning to sneak a picture of you eating it and send a framed copy to Mother tomorrow. She’ll love it. The maids will hide for days.” Rickon couldn’t quite tell whether Myrcella was being serious or not, her voice was so cheerful. It was entirely possible she just genuinely relished the idea of taunting her mother after whatever she’d said that had her little brother refusing to eat cheese, and inciting the terror of her maids; which he was still a little stuck on, that the mother of Robb’s friend with her porcelain cats and mismatched throw pillows had  _ maids _ , who  _ were these people? _

The way she knocked her knuckles on the doorframe twice seemed significant, though, and Rickon noted the way the boy in the room stiffened before waving a hand dismissively in the air over his shoulder, a clear signal he’d gotten whatever message Myrcella had been sending.

The woman in question nodded, before walking deeper into the kitchen, voice turning jovial as she slipped back into jokes Rickon didn’t get and a back and forth with ‘Arianne’ - the woman with the ladle - that was too quirky to be practiced or fake. Rickon glanced back at her, at Robb and the others; and then stepped into the bedroom, glancing at the boy at the computer briefly before he instead turned his attention to the books piled all over his room.

They were stacked on top of the dressing table next to the door, lined the edges of his room, were sticking out from under his bed...he had a veritable library scattered around his little room, and Rickon regarded the most worn ones with interest, browsing the titles and reaching to touch the ones he knew.

“You know you can pick them up and look at them, if you want. They don’t bite; not unless you threaten them with open flames, and even then it’s mostly playful.” Rickon jumped and turned quickly, bristling at being directly addressed; and then stilled when he was met by a polite if amused smile and eyes that were, impossibly, bluer than the photo had led him to believe.

Hostility was his go-to response when being directly addressed by small town strangers, but it didn’t feel right for that moment, for the boy leaning against the back of his chair and smiling at him warmly.

Rickon didn’t know how to be  _ nice _ , though. He wasn’t sure he’d ever known how, even before his father had died and he’d run away.

The boy - Tommen, Rickon already  _ knew _ his name - didn’t seem to mind though, smile widening as he continued to watch Rickon closely, like Rickon pawing at his books had somehow made him endearing or interesting as opposed to rude and disrespectful of boundaries.

Those eyes should have been illegal, he mused almost distantly. That and the way Tommen caught at his bottom lip with his teeth before speaking again.

“You’re Rickon, right? Robb’s little brother? I wouldn’t have thought there’s a great many red-haired teenagers who look like Robb hanging around Star’s Hollow, though if you  _ are _ one of the mythical surplus you should run before Myrcella really takes you in and decides to beat you to death with Arianne’s ladle.” He winced, as if the warning had brought up some memory, and Rickon frowned at him.

“Is this babbling thing a genetic trait or learned?” He almost regretted the words after they were out, waited for Tommen’s face to drop or close-off at Rickon’s incurable rudeness. He was left off-balance, though, when instead Tommen grinned at him.

“The quirky edge to ours was never quite trained out of us, but then personally I prefer the silly tangents to the preaching and condescension of my mother and that side of my family. I can attempt terseness if it’ll improve the forced social interaction, though. I’ll assume a stern and disgruntled expression and everything.” Contrary to his words he kept smiling, and Rickon had to force himself not to smile back, instead turning to look at his books again.

“Who said the interaction’s  _ forced _ ? I could have been up for this.” If he hadn’t already been fully aware he was a touch too sarcastic to be considered serious - completely intentionally - the soft, endearing little snort that followed his words would have made that clear enough. When he glanced back at Tommen the other boy had pushed to his feet and crossed his arms around his middle in a way that made Rickon’s thoughts stick on his refusal to eat cheese and Myrcella’s intention to torture their mother with pictures of him eating it.

He was probably jumping to conclusions. He was almost  _ definitely _ jumping to conclusions, there was no way Tommen didn’t know he looked…

Rickon forcibly stopped his thoughts there.

“Oh, I’m sure. You were exuding enthusiasm when you walked into the kitchen to meet Arianne and her ladle; really, the fact you’re hiding in my room with my books just proves how much you are  _ loving _ the fact Robb dragged you to dinner with his nutty friend and her little brother on your second day in town. Not to mention how enthusiastic and social the other Stark I know is. Stupid of me, really, to not immediately assume you were bouncing with excitement every step you took to get here.” The mocking was gentle, and Tommen grinned at him when he was finished; before his eyes shifted to the doorway and the expression vanished, replaced by surprise.

“Oh,  _ wow _ ,” he murmured, and Rickon turned his head in time to see Shaggydog pad into the room, clearly done with the inspection of the house he’d wandered off to conduct when they’d first arrived. Rickon stiffened, debating whether to tell Shaggy to back off, mildly concerned by how he was watching Tommen and moving toward him; but then Tommen dropped into a crouch and reached to start petting Shaggydog lightly, running his fingers through his hair and smiling at the huge dog.

Rickon stared, incredulous, when Shaggy made a low noise of content and pressed into the attention.

“He’s  _ gorgeous _ . Robb mentioned you had a dog, but he never said he’d be the same breed as Grey Wind.” Rickon blinked at the both of them in surprise, before he frowned.

“You know Grey Wind?” Tommen glanced up at him and then grinned softly, cocking his head while he kept petting Shaggydog gently.

“What? You think your surly older brother is close enough friends with me and my sister to drag you here for dinner, but not enough for us to have met his dog?” Rickon felt the way he blushed at that, and Tommen looked a little surprised before his expression softened and he got to his feet, scratching around Shaggydog’s ears lightly before he moved to stand beside Rickon, reaching to pick up one of his books and study the cover thoughtfully.

“You  _ can _ borrow one, if you’d like. It’s not like I’m reading all of them at once.” He glanced over at Rickon and smiled briefly; and Rickon was a little bit grateful he’d bypassed any continued mockery in favour of the offer.

He shook his head, though, and stepped past Tommen, closer to his window.

“No thanks,” he muttered, perhaps too brusque, but if Tommen’s soft snort of laughter was any indication the other boy didn’t mind all that much, and he smiled briefly to himself before examining the window, regarding the latch critically.

“Hey, does this thing open?” He tossed the question back over his shoulder, and Tommen seemed to take a moment before answering.

“Uh, yeah. It sticks a little, but it’ll go all the way if you jiggle it.” Rickon muttered ‘jiggle it’ under his breath sarcastically, but did so when the window did, predictably, stick on the way up; and then braced his hands on the sill when it was open, breathing in deeply.

Being stuck indoors generally made him feel claustrophobic, caged, but being in a strange house was always worse. He always started to feel like crawling out of his skin before very long.

“It’s too hot, I know; the consequences of being right next to the kitchen. It’s usually fine, but then we usually don’t actually cook anything, so…” Tommen’s voice seemed to drag him back a bit, and when Rickon glanced back at him he was smiling sheepishly, toying with the sleeves of his jumper, and Rickon regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.

“You want to get out of here?” 

Tommen blinked at him, expression nonplussed; and then frowned.

“What?” Rickon rolled his eyes at the confusion and jerked his head in the direction of the window and beyond it.

“Climb out your window, leave the grown ups to pretend not to flirt.  _ Do you want to get out of here? _ ” Tommen’s expression remained the same, frown spread across his face; but something in his eyes made Rickon think he was tempted.

“It’s Star’s Hollow. Nothing’s open right now. Even if anything  _ was _ open we’re talking about a town with twelve separate shops that sell ceramic unicorns. There’s nothing to  _ do _ .” His tone of voice was matter-of-fact, and Rickon shrugged a shoulder, screwing up his nose.

“So we walk. Find a bench, look in some dark shop windows, get yelled at for walking on the grass. Anything’s better than being hissed at to  _ behave _ by Robb.” Tommen’s frown softened, and he took a step closer; but he seized Rickon’s sleeve instead of making like he was going to climb out of the window, and started to pull him toward the kitchen instead.

“I promise they’re not as crazy as they seem, and Arianne is a  _ ridiculously _ good cook. Just eat something, suffer though some momentary small talk, and then I’ll sit on the back porch with you and we can bitch about Robb and Myrcella and their dragging us into the middle of their unresolved sexual tension.” Rickon’s mouth quirked involuntarily at the last part, and he let himself be pulled into the kitchen reluctantly; and then eyed the back door, wondering whether he could make a break for it or if Tommen would tackle him before he could escape.

“You want a can of lemonade or something? There’s plenty in the fridge.” Tommen’s voice was polite, and he glanced back over his shoulder; and Rickon offered him a brief smile, gently tugging his arm free.

“I can get it. You go on.” Tommen tilted his head at him, eyes narrowing a little like he was trying to figure out if Rickon was telling the truth, before he just hummed softly.

“Alright. See you in there.” He offered him a last, genuine smile before he turned to walk out of the kitchen, and Rickon refused to let himself feel guilty when he let his eyes drop to the other boy’s arse as he walked away. He chewed on the inside of his cheek a little when Tommen was gone, turned to the fridge; and then sighed softly.

Rickon took a bottle of beer from inside before slipping out the back door to drink it on the porch and pretend he wasn’t in a town full of insane people for a couple of hours.

-

Tommen scowled at Arianne, ducking her hand when she reached to ruffle his hair, and narrowly avoided tripping over Arys, her boyfriend, when the man made a show of reaching to grab him so Arianne could get to his hair.

“You’re both  _ children _ ,” he told them, unimpressed, before turning back to filling his plate and the one he’d claimed for Rickon, hiding a smile when he heard Robb chuckle softly. He hesitated over the bowl of pasta, chewing on his bottom lip while he weighed pros and cons.

It was his favourite, had been since he was a shy nine year old and Myrcella used to leave him with Arianne while she was working, but he knew the recipe involved a couple of handfuls of cheese, and his mother’s voice hadn’t stopped echoing through his head since she’d unexpectedly dropped by his and Myrcella’s weekly dinner with their grandparents on Friday. Yes, Myrcella had been consistent in telling him to ignore her, but it wasn’t that easy; especially not when he still had a little yellow bruise on his waist from where she’d pinched the skin between her fingers and tutted.

He sighed quietly and moved on without dishing out any for himself, but compensated by piling an extra spoonful of mashed potato into the space the pasta would have filled; and then almost dropped his plate when he heard the back door slam, and Myrcella make a wordless noise of frustration.

He glanced over at Robb, whose expression had turned something between grim and exasperated, and watched quietly as the elder Stark set his plate down and turned to walk into the kitchen and discover just what it was that had Cella hurting their back door and making the kind of wordless noises of anger that Cersei had tried to train out of her while she was still a child.

He thought he might have an inkling, with Rickon MIA and Myrcella not one for snark unless it was her own or Tommen’s. He just hoped she hadn’t chased him off, or said anything especially odd.

For all of his surliness, Rickon had seemed like a nice guy; like the kind of person Tommen would like to be friends with. He would be incredibly disappointed if his mad, protective older sister had managed to chase him off in the space of five minutes, and possibly even angry if she’d been rude.

She was supposed to be the adult in their relationship. Generally that meant not letting asshole teenagers get to you.

Tommen sighed to himself when he heard raised voices from the kitchen, and moved to balance both his and Rickon’s plate on one arm, privately smug at having retained the ability to do so from those couple of weeks he had volunteered to help at Robb’s diner. He clutched cutlery for both of them in his hand, and then offered Arianne and Arys a long-suffering look.

“Please excuse me. My children are fighting.” Arys grinned at him in amusement while Arianne just rolled her eyes with a smile, and Tommen ducked his head in a little nod at them both before ducking out of the room and into the kitchen just in time to hear Myrcella’s voice turn incredulous.

“My god.  _ Two _ pies.” Tommen watched the mixture of confusion and anger that spread across Robb’s face, and stepped forward before it could turn into words.

“Are you threatening to throw pies at people again, ‘Cella? I feel like this may be reaching ‘latent dreams of becoming a clown when you grow up’ levels, and I have to warn you your window for getting into the clown business is rapidly closing. And there’s not a circus in town for you to conveniently run away to currently, so you may have to wait anyway. I’d recommend sticking with the ‘running an inn’ thing.” Some of the outrage on Myrcella’s face seemed to dissipate when she took him in, and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Go back in the other room, Tommen,” she ordered softly; but Tommen just looked at her, unmoved.

“I’m sorry. Were you  _ not _ just arguing and threatening to pie one of our favourite people?” Myrcella scowled back at him, but relented after a moment, hissing through her teeth and glancing at Robb with slight hostility in her expression.

“His  _ brother- _ ” Robb cut her off sharply, snapping ‘ _ Myrcella _ ’ in a low warning, and Tommen held up his free hand in a placating gesture.

“Children. Please. The milk will start to curdle.” They both glared at him, and Tommen shot them unimpressed looks.

“This fight is stupid. I don’t even know what it’s about, beyond  _ something _ to do with Rickon, and I  _ still _ know it’s stupid. So you two are going to stop it, and then go and eat dinner as friends, and I’m going to go out on the back porch and eat my dinner with Rickon so I can try to convince him not everyone in this town is crazy, as was the original intention behind inviting him for dinner.” He kept his tone of voice matter of fact, ignoring that his arm had started to ache from holding both their plates, and when Myrcella looked like she was going to argue he narrowed his eyes at her.

“I like Rickon, and I have been informed on more than one occasion that I’m a pretty good judge of character. Yes, he is sort of a jerk, but so are you and so am I and I sort of  _ like _ people who are jerks, even with the delinquent edge that’s making you glare at me like I’ve just told you I’m going on a date with a very hungry lion.” Robb looked reluctantly amused at the assessment of Rickon’s character, and Tommen looked between them both sternly before smiling a little.

“Go. Eat.” They both looked equally reluctant at that, but Tommen edged past them, wordlessly accepting the kiss Myrcella pressed to his cheek before he stepped through the back door and then closed it quietly behind him.

Rickon was sat on the back railing, kicking his legs, and when he looked back at Tommen his expression was hostile.

“Down, wolf boy. My sister’s not following me, I promise.” Rickon’s expression of reluctant amusement was similar enough to Robb’s that it made Tommen grin, and he stepped closer, setting Rickon’s plate down on the railing beside him and then sitting next to it, resting his own plate on his knees.

“You have incited her rage, though. Just so you're aware. What did you say that upset her so much?” He stabbed at his sweetcorn with his fork while he waited for Rickon’s reply, regarding him from beneath his eyelashes; and Rickon grimaced, picking at a piece of chicken.

“She was talking up Robb, and the town, and I...may have suggested her only reasons for doing so would be either because she's really fucking naive, or because she's sleeping with him. She said she wanted to throw a pie at me and then went back inside.” He muttered the last part, and Tommen frowned at him. He just watched Rickon eat for a while, organising his thoughts; and then sighed. 

“You know, Myrcella left home when she was sixteen. Just after I was born, in fact; packed a bag and just left, without even bothering to finish High School. She came back for me when I was six, when our mother started to get awful and Myrcella had a steady job at the inn she runs now.” Tommen could feel Rickon’s eyes on him while he pushed a piece of carrot around his plate, and he smiled wryly to himself before he continued.

“Most places would have wanted nothing to do with us; at the very least we should have been ignored, this twenty two year old girl with no qualifications and the six year old trailing along after her. The implications don't usually sit well with small town sensibilities. But Star’s Hollow...was good to us. Took us in, though they shouldn't have. I don't have very many memories that don't involve one of the insane residents of this town, and almost all of them can rattle off embarrassing childhood facts about me on request. They were the only family I really had until Myrcella started talking to our grandparents again. So maybe you're right, and it's naive to claim this town can help everyone, and maybe her talking up Robb was partly because they're hopelessly in love with each other; but this place and your brother are a really big part of why we're in such a good place right now, so you should be able to forgive her for being overzealous in talking them up.” He took a breath when he was done, and glanced up at Rickon, meeting his frown steadily.

The expression seemed to deepen after another moment.

“I didn't know that,” he murmured, dropping his eyes; and Tommen smiled back at him briefly.

“I know you didn't. Myrcella should have known, too, but her temper gets the better of her. But you know  _ now _ . It doesn’t mean you have to change your opinion of the town; just recognise that in this house you will find only enthusiastic cheering for Star’s Hollow and its residents.” Rickon nodded sharply, indicating that he understood; but then glared at his plate.

“I'm not apologising to her. I  _ heard _ the shit she was saying about me in there, and I may be a jerk but I don’t deserve that, not just for asking if she's sleeping with my brother.” He growled the words, almost, and Tommen reached to take his hand and squeeze gently.

“I don’t expect you to. She overreacted; she always does. Don’t worry about it.” Rickon stared down at where Tommen hadn't immediately released his hand after the squeeze, was running his thumb over the back in an attempt to comfort him but not scare him off, and his frown softened a little at the edges like he was confused. 

“Did Robb tell you about me?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, but guarded in a way that made up for it, and Tommen smiled wryly before replying.

“Are you referring to your status as a rehabilitated runaway, or the fighting? Because Myrcella wouldn’t have let you in the house if she’d known, so I got to be the one he unloaded on when your mother first said she was sending you, and said unloading covered both subjects.” Rickon looked up sharply at the revelation, and Tommen’s expression softened before he squeezed Rickon’s fingers again, releasing him after to take both their half empty plates and move them out of the way, so he could turn and straddle the bannister instead, facing Rickon better.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he promised, tilting his head a little while he held Rickon’s eyes, “honestly I don’t. I’ve been around worse, and I could never believe someone Robb was allowing to live with him would be all that awful. And you don’t  _ seem _ awful. Maybe you’re a bit of an arse, but then so is everyone else here tonight, and I happen to like people who are sort of terrible. They’re the most interesting people, in my experience. I’m not going to shy away from initiating contact with you or limit our conversations just because you’ve got a  _ past _ .” Tommen rolled his eyes when he finished, before smiling softly at Rickon; and then watching, holding the expression as long as he could, while Rickon frowned back at him like he was a puzzle the redhead was struggling to solve.

It was odd, being under such close scrutiny, and a strange shiver crept up Tommen’s spine while he held Rickon’s eyes and allowed his smile to soften in confusion. He was quiet for a moment too long, watched Tommen a touch too intently, and Tommen took a breath to ask what was wrong-

Only for the question to be silenced before be could voice it, rough hands cupping his face, lips pressed to Tommen’s.

For a moment Tommen just froze, eyes wide, hands held in the air helplessly; before he melted into the kiss, eyes slipping shut while he moved his hands to rest on Rickon’s chest where the other boy had pushed closer to kiss him in the first place.

It was a nice kiss. Rickon’s hands were a little rough but warm, his lips chapped but enthusiastic, and Tommen was happy enough to part his lips when Rickon tried to deepen the kiss. He let out a soft, involuntary noise when Rickon’s tongue entered his mouth, and hummed when Rickon moved his hands to clutch at his waist instead and drag him closer; before he meeped quietly in surprise when Rickon hitched one of Tommen’s legs up over his hip, so they were almost pressed flush together, breaking the kiss to ask what exactly the other boy was doing.

He was cut off again when Rickon pressed his mouth to his throat, kissing over the skin near frantically, and let out a sharp, startled breath instead, biting down on his bottom lip and letting his eyes slide shut while he clung to Rickon’s shoulders. 

Tommen was so weak for neck kisses, and Rickon, it would seem, was  _ spectacular _ at them. He sucked particularly hard at the skin at the juncture of Tommen’s neck and shoulder, and Tommen almost  _ purred _ , murmuring his name quietly; before Rickon set a hand on the snap of Tommen’s jeans and he jumped, catching Rickon’s fingers and leaning back out of the reach of his mouth.

The sheer frustration on Rickon’s face when he looked up at him was almost comical; and Tommen swallowed, trying to catch his breath before he spoke.

“Um. Sorry? I just...you don’t know me? At all?” Rickon just looked back at him blankly, the frustration giving way to something more like irritation; and Tommen felt his own temper spark a little, his earlier enjoyment of their conversation and Rickon’s company in general banished.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” he stated, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Rickon snorted, something in his expression turning unpleasant.

“Because you’re a virgin. Or frigid.” 

Tommen’s temper spiked, and he straightened his back before he replied, voice cold and clipped.

“And you’re mean, and apparently don’t take rejection very well, but we can’t all be good kissers  _ and _ good people, I suppose.”  He hated when he got like this, voice sharp and cool and unpleasant in a way that was, as Myrcella had declared more than once, ‘scarily like Cersei for a boy who’s not lived with her since he was  _ five _ ’; but sometimes it was necessary. 

He’d been  _ nice _ to Rickon. He’d forgiven him for his crass judgement of Myrcella, he’d brought him food, he’d let him kiss him, none of which he’d had to do.

And now he was being a dick, because Tommen had refused to go pass second base with him after knowing him for  _ less than an hour _ .

Tommen climbed off the railing, claiming both of their plates and heading for the back door; only to freeze when he heard Rickon scoff behind him, eyes narrowing.

He turned back around, taking in how Rickon had turned his back on him and was now frowning out at the back garden, and closed the distance between them.

And then shoved him off the bannister with his free hand.

He felt very satisfied with the yelp it got out of the boy now staring up at him incredulously. 

“I honestly don't care about the massive chip you've apparently got on your shoulder, or the fact you're apparently incapable of comprehending the idea someone might be nice to you without some ulterior motive; but I haven't done anything to deserve this. I was nice to you. I'm not obliged to have sex with you, and certainly wasn't being nice with that in mind, so you have no right to be an ass about me refusing to let you shove a hand down my jeans.” Rickon just stared back at him, expression unreadable; and Tommen huffed before turning back around and heading inside.

He'd been honestly enjoying his conversation with Rickon - and the kissing, that had been really nice too - and then he'd had to go and ruin it by breaking out defense mechanisms and trying to turn Tommen being nice into some kind of plot to get Rickon to fuck him.

Tommen didn't bother trying to lie to himself; he found Rickon very attractive, and maybe when he knew him better he'd be interested in dating him or having sex with him, or even both. But he was never going to be comfortable doing anything more than making out with someone he barely knew.

Plus, as Rickon had accurately guessed, he was a virgin. And he didn't want his first time having sex to be a rushed handjob on the porch with an angry boy who just wanted to use him to alleviate his boredom. 

That was perhaps what had stung the most. That Rickon had been sort of  _ right _ .

Tommen sighed as he shut the back door behind him; before he froze when he found himself face to face with Robb, the elder Stark looking something somewhere between fed up and apologetic. Tommen chewed on his bottom lip before he spoke softly.

“He didn't mean it. He just...doesn't know how not to be an asshole. Especially to someone who's being nice to him for no obvious reason; he probably can't help but be suspicious that it's some trick or something.” Robb’s expression softened a little, and he offered Tommen a tired smile before clapping him on the shoulder solidly.

“You're already cutting him too much slack, you know,” he offered dryly; and Tommen shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“I sort of have to, to make up for the fact Myrcella will never give him any at all.” Robb snorted but nodded in agreement, and offered Tommen a slightly easier smile before he disappeared out the backdoor to join his little brother; and Tommen watched him go, only allowing himself to frown once he was gone.

Stark boys were all odd, he concluded internally. Odd, and frustrating, and with a habit of speaking before thinking.

It was a horrid shame that Tommen and his sister both seemed to be attracted to that sort of thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Bet you thought I was gone forever, huh?
> 
> IDK if there'll be more of this. I miss writing my boys, though.
> 
> Kudos are appreciated, comments are begged for and encourage me to make more words happen.


End file.
